S
imon Peter watched the crowds gather outside the house. “Where do they all come from?” he muttered to himself. Although a large, raw-boned man whose muscles seemed made of spring steel, he was weary. This was the third village today. He turned his gaze to the people in the room. So many women, he mused. There was Mary called Magdalene. Jesus had delivered her from no less than seven demons. Joanna the wife of Cuza who managed Herods’ palace; Susanna. There were so many of them. A good thing! thought Peter, Without their help, none of us would be here. These women believed in Jesus. Not in just who he was but in what he was doing. They believed in it so much that they sacrificially and consistently gave of their financial substance to support the work of Jesus and his twelve disciples. Where did they get the money? Thought Peter, Do their husbands know about it? He let the thought hang in his head for a moment as he considered. I suppose it is out of gratitude, he continued, he has healed just about all of them from something.
He felt a reassuring hand placed on his shoulder. “So my friend, what do you make of all this?” It was James, the Lord’s brother.
“I was just thinking that there are so many women here.”
“They are very faithful,” said James. “What would we do without them?”
“Likely not very much, considering our purse,” replied the fisherman.
“You are concerned about our purse? Don’t trouble yourself my friend. My brother seems adequate to the task of keeping it brimming with denary. Besides, let Judas worry about it. He is the one in charge of it.”
That is what I am afraid of . . . Peter did not say these words. He thought them.
One of the women approached them. “It is time,” she said, “for supper. Come.”
Jesus had already taken his place. It was difficult to find one’s place around the table. There was no room to recline. The guests stood about the room as non-participants in the dinner, but they pressed together, making it virtually impossible to move about. The press extended outside where the crowd seemed interminable, a sea of faces murmuring, straining to see, wondering when Jesus would come out.
Someone jostled the table and a glass of wine fell over. Simon the Zealot said disgustedly, “This is impossible.” The excitement level of the crowd indeed demanded attention. Quietly Jesus arose and as best they could, people made way for him. With some difficulty, he moved through the room to the outside.
There stood just outside the door of the house several scribes from Jerusalem. They had been saying among themselves and attempting to convince standers by that Jesus was possessed. As Jesus emerged someone shouted, “He casts out demons through the Prince of Demons!” The crowd was divided. Some shouted in laughter and derision. Others caught their breath and said, “No!”
Jesus said simply, “How can Satan cast out Satan?” It was as if all were struck dumb. He had spoken. Abishag barked at the sudden quiet, adding punctuation to her master’s remark. He continued, “If a government is divided against itself, that government will not stand.” The silence of assent. “And if a family is divided against itself, that family will dissolve.” No one, especially the scribes, attempted to debate. His logic was undeniable. The clarity and authority with which he spoke, irresistible. “So if Satan has risen up against himself, he too comes to an end.” He paused, “As you can see, I am still here.”
“When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it wanders through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ If it arrives and finds the house empty, swept clean and put in order, it finds seven other spirits more wicked than itself and they all go in and live there together. The final condition of that man is worse than the first. This happens because the house is empty. There is in the house no power or authority stronger than the spirits to resist them.”
As was his habit when he addressed a large crowd, he abruptly turned to us and said, “Soon the Holy Spirit will come to live within you. No one can go into a powerful man’s house and take his things, unless he first binds the strong man. No creature has the power to bind the Holy Spirit. Never forget that.”
Then again, his voice raised he cried, “All can be forgiven. Whatever blasphemies and terrible things they speak against me will be forgiven also. But he who blasphemes the Holy Spirit by believing that he is demonic and by willfully rejecting him, that person is guilty of rejecting the Forgiver. He who does that rejects forgiveness itself and becomes bereft of it!”
With that, Jesus turned and re-entered the house. His mood seemed dark and foreboding. It was as if he felt grief. Sitting down he propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. It seemed as if he wept. I heard him utter something . . . something like “My father . . “ It was hardly audible. He said something again. I couldn’t hear it at all but I could see his lips moving. I thought I saw him say, “My mother.” What was happening? Why was he is such pain?
“James!” he cried. He looked up. His eyes were indeed moist. “James, my brother!” he cried again. I looked around for James the Lord’s brother but could not see him. No doubt, he was lost somewhere in the crowd. “James!” this time in anguish. Those standing about began to mutter, Where is his brother? He is calling for his brother. It spread among those who were near and out into the street. In a moment, James could be seen making his way through the press. He stood before his brother. Their faces sober James tentatively opened his mouth to speak. “Jesus,” he said, “our father . . “ he halted, struggling for words.
“Is dead.” Jesus finished for him. He stood up, his jaw set.
“Then let us go to him, Jesus. With your powers you can . . “ Abruptly, amazingly, his brother turned his back on him. James was thunderstruck. “Jesus!” he demanded plaintively.
“No James. I will not go. My father is . . . with my Father.”
“Jesus, please!” But Jesus had stepped into the crowd. In a moment others made their way to him with the news, “You mother and your brothers stand outside. They wish to speak with you.”
In a black mood he muttered, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” He looked around and stretched his hand toward his disciples and said, “There are my mother and my brothers!” The pain in his face was palpable. “My mother and my brothers,” he continued, “are those who hear the Word of God and do it.” Walking away seeking solitude, I heard him say, “Whoever does the will of my Father who is in heaven, he is my brother, and sister and mother.” I don’t think I ever saw Jesus so lonely. I cannot explain his reaction to the news of his father’s death, nor his treatment of this family at this terrible moment. Sometimes he seemed tortured by his own existence.
